


The Courage to Jump

by Eoko



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7682854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eoko/pseuds/Eoko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a one off story in a long line of events that take place in the life of Pink Kitty (Faerie server), my main Warrior of Light character. It begins at the climax of the level 30 lancer quest were Foulques (Fulk) explains his background and challenges Pink to fight. Pink is a level 50 monk at this point in the game and his life will continue on that path. While there are no plans to continue to write the relationship these two will share after this story, there may be references to it in later stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Courage to Jump

He never would have expected that when he’d stepped into the Lancers’s Guild to add a few more skills to his repertoire as a monk that he’d wind up here, never thought he’d be facing off, so severely, against the abrasive elezen with the intoxicating eyes.

But there was not much else he could do now than confront the man who had crossed the line too many times and much too far on this occasion. Pink Kitty stood in the North Shroud, near the edge of Finder’s Bluff—definitely not his first choice—looking at the Duskwight before him.

The elezen stepped away from him, back exposed and spear still strapped tightly in place. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t even worried.

“What kept you?” he asked, tossing a glance over his shoulder along with a smirk of condescension.

"I was making sure the lancers you left to die made it home in one piece,” Pink said, fists clenched at his sides but making no other move to provoke the elezen.

“Fool. You waste your pity on false friends. It is only a matter of time before they betray you. Aye, just like those wretches who saw me imprisoned and exiled. I was once an upright citizen of Gridania, and a man of the Lancers’ Guild. Yet life was not easy. For want of the coin to obtain the barest necessities, I conspired with my closest comrades to steal from the guild’s coffers.”

The miqo’te blinked. He hadn’t expected Foulques to start explaining his past, but perhaps he could use this to his advantage, keep the elezen talking and avoid a duel completely. He stayed his ground, eyes flicking occasionally to the other bodies littering the floor. Were they dead? Unconscious?

“The theft soon came to light, and though there were no suspects, it was clear that the deed had been perpetrated by something within the ranks. An air of suspicion hung heavy over the guild from that day forth, until at last, unable to bear the guilt, I convinced my accomplices to join me in confessing…

“Only for them to bite their _craven_ tongues after I had stepped forward and admitted my part in the crime. And so it was that I alone took the blame! ‘Of _course_ the Duskwight,’ everyone said. ‘Was there ever any doubt?’ It all made perfect sense!

“Despite my heartfelt pleas, my so-called friends denied any involvement. Instead they called me vulgar names that I do not care to repeat. Can you imagine the shock and anguish I felt at their betrayal?” He had turned now, slightly, looking back at the miqo’te behind him.

Pink wondered if he truly desired an answer. He wondered if being politely forced to leave his tribe would at all to compare to what Foulques had gone through then, the feeling he had let it grow into and how it was gripping him so tightly on this day.

“Would that I had had the strength to force the truth out of those traitors! Would that I had had the courage to escape my dungeon cell, even if it meant taking some hapless guard’s life!”

His ears flicked as he listened closely to the elezen, picking out his moral center between the rage and loathing in his words. How had he become this? How has he let himself become so callous? So hard? Even with his harsh words, Pink could hear pieces of his true nature buried deep.

“Driven by vengeance and no small amount of self-loathing, I resolved to forge my courage anew.”

Ah, there is was. It was no wonder he’d allowed himself to become so lost. He’d grown to hate everything that he was; the good, and the bad. He was facing Pink now, and the miqo’te had to actively keep a neutral expression.

“I strode into the lairs of ravenous fiends while drenched in blood! I put their helpless offspring to the spear, that I might face the unbridled fury of their kin!”

Pink winced at that and hoped that Foulques was so lost in his tale that he failed to see it. He vaguely wondered if the elezen realized his training regime had been more death wish than anything else.

“For my efforts I have acquired the ultimate courage—a courage forged amidst danger and tempered by rage! I fear nothing! I am the greatest lancer that has ever lived.”

He signed mentally, ears flicking back. Foulques was too far gone in this moment to see reason or logic; too far gone to realise that Pink’s clumsiness with a spear was not due to a lack of strength or courage, but that his body was perfectly trained and tempered to that of a monk and not a lancer. And he most certainly failed to see that should the miqo’te desire to do so, one square punch would take the elezen to the ground before he even knew what had happened.

But, Foulques had seen enough talent in him to consider him as something of value, to see him as a worthy challenge, and apparently as a self-made test he must now overcome. Pink knew that there was no way to talk him around now, and for some reason he still held enough respect for the lancer to meet his challenge spear to spear. He reasoned to himself that if things truly became dire he would throw the weapon aside and show the fool who he was really dealing with.

The battle began in a rush and clang, metal spear tip to metal tip, wood shaft to wood. They dodged each other. They swung and countered, thrust and strafed. They took hits, and made distance to collect their breath. Foulques used several maneuvers that Pink sorely wished he could have used against the elezen.

But eventually, and without having to resort to his monk training Pink had claimed victory. Unfortunately, this did not quell the elezen but instead seemed to send him over the edge and into a frenzy.

“…I-impossible!” he shouted, stepping back and swinging his spear wildly in front of his body. “M-My courage is absolute!”

He drew nearer the edge and Pink threw out a hand to warn him to stop. But it was no use. The elezen wouldn’t listen, could only see the gesture as one of threat, could only see those around him wishing him harm or hatred.

“Nooo! Come no closer!” he yelled as he took a final step back.

There was no way in hell the miqo’te was going to listen to that. Foulques wasn’t stopping, wasn’t going to stop. He shifted his foot behind him and pushed off with all his might, driving forward fast and low just as the lancer’s foot slid over the edge and he lost his balance.

He fell, and he screamed.

_No. No, no, no!_ Pink shouted in his mind, having made the choice even before his toes curled around the edge of the cliff and he jumped, pushed, drove himself down head first towards the elezen.

It was stupid. It was probably the dumbest thing he had ever done, though probably not the last—he hoped not the last. But he didn’t care, didn’t think. He only focused on Foulques as wind whipped through his hair.

And then he had him, fingers grasping a hand, then bringing the other to grab the arm and pulled himself in. He wrapped his arms around the taller man’s frame and pulled his lips to his ear, eyes already closing and concentrating.

“Gridania,” he whispered and hoped, prayed that Foulques would understand, that some sliver of sense or self-preservation would let the idea click into place in his mind. Follow me. Come with me. Forget the fear of falling. We are hovering. We are waiting. We are calling to the aetheryte and it will pull us home.

‘ _Follow me_ ,’ he thought, right before he felt the hitch in his being as he was swept into the familiar current.

And then it was gone, and he was falling, and they were falling. Foulques was still there, still in his arms, but they were falling. However, reality set in quickly as screams and shouts registered to his ears. Solid, flat wood connected with his hip and arm and he grunted, then grunted again as something collided with his back as they rolled. A thud sounded nearby but it was driven from his mind as the sense of falling overtook him again before he was met with a weak splash of shallow water.

He grunted loudly and his arms released the elezen, the pair of them rolling apart as momentum was finally defeated. That had hurt. That had been stupid. But, it had worked.

Pink was on his back, laying in the shallow pool of water that surrounded the raised platform around the Gridanian aetheryte. His ears flicked as people shouted, rushing to the side of the rail he’d just rolled under and off, or came running towards him.

“Pink!” someone shouted. “Pink, are you alright!?”

He blinked a couple of times before attempting to sit up. He managed it, but slowly. He felt a sudden cascade of soft healing magic wash over him and he gave his head a little shake. He wasn’t surprised that he was recognized, even in the simple gear he wore. He was the Warrior of Light, after all, and also a member of the Twin Adder.

He got to his feet and lifted a hand to pretend to brush some dust off his shoulder. “Fine, fine,” he said, looking around, then up. “Is everyone alright up there?” he asked.

“You knocked someone on their ass when you went rolling through but they seem to have run off in embarrassment already,” a pretty midlander said from above him. She had a small wooden wand in her hand and he suspected she’d been the one to heal him.

He gave a half-bow to the young woman before looking around. Foulques was gone. He lifted himself onto his toes and tried to look beyond the crowd, but his miqo’te height was no good amongst the gathering around him. Damn.

*~*~*~*~*

Pink made his way to the Lancers’ Guild and informed Ywain of what had happened. He failed to mention that he’d leapt over a cliff in order to save the troublesome elezen, expecting the guildmaster to find him to be a dangerous problem that would have better been left at the bottom of the bluff. Instead he simply explained he had defeated the other and proven to him that he was not the great lancer he claimed to be.

Ywain had praised his skill and his courage, claiming that the ordeal was trial enough in his mind. Pink was rather grateful for that. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to go kill several annoying monsters to prove he could thrust a spear with the best of them. Though, he was incredibly good at thrusting his spear.

“Where does he live?” Pink asked when their conversation of lancing neared the end.

“What? Who?” Ywain asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Foulques. Where does he live? He’s been such a trouble, and bordering on dangerous, with a vendetta on your guild. You must know where he lives, if only to keep tabs on him,” the young man pressed.

Ywain looked at him for a long moment before nodding, as if confirming something in his own thoughts. “Give me your map, and I will mark it for you.”

He did so then looked at it for a few moments before putting the map away. “Thank you. I’ll… see what I can do about your troubles,” he said, and left Ywain to determine exactly what he meant.

He turned and as he walked through the archway and into the lobby he closed his eyes and focused on the gear set he wished to don, feeling the clothing form around his body by magic in a flash of light. He was a monk. This lancer business could wait, Foulques could not.

*~*~*~*~*

It was some hours before Pink could finally make his way to the elezen’s home, a small thing off the beaten path of the East Shroud. He was dressed in his traditional monk attire, though dyed to his liking. The chest piece was a soft lotus pink, as were the gloves and boots. The pants and stupid feather, that he loved for some reason, were white. There was no way to confuse what he was, and hopefully not confuse who he was.

When he came to the door he checked his map again before raising his hand and knocking. There was no answer, but a pale light through a small window told Pink that someone was home. After standing on the doorstep a good minute he knocked again, louder this time, listening closely for the sound of anyone inside, or trying to flee.

Eventually the door opened a few inches and Foulques stood there in a long, loose shirt and simple slacks. His usual bright pink eyes were dull, everything in his face and posture showing defeat and despair. He flinched upon seeing Pink at his door, then his eyes went wide as he took in the dress and something clicked.

“Fuck me…” he breathed, fingers tightening worriedly around the door.

Pink only just managed to avoid saying something along the lines of ‘it would be my absolute pleasure’. Instead he simply said, “I’m coming in,” pressed his hand to the door and pushed it open so he could walk past the elezen and into his home.

Foulques stared at him, probably half-shocked at the rude intrusion and half expecting to be dead on the floor in the matter of minutes.

Pink’s eyes flicked around the room and he moved over to lean against the frame of the arch leading into the small kitchen area. He watched the elezen still standing at the door, staring at the spot he’d just walked past.

“Over here now,” he said, smirk playing on his lips.

Foulques started and slammed the door shut, glaring over his shoulder at the monk. “How did I not see it?”

“How did you not notice you were playing rival with the fabulous Pink Kitty?” he asked. “I have no idea. But I’m not the only handsome miqo’te with pink hair and a fluffy tail, so I suppose I can forgive you.”

Another long stare, then a half-jerk, half-shake of his head. His eyes lowered and focused somewhere on the floor in the vicinity of Pink’s boots. “Thank…. you…” he whispered softly.

“Hmmm?” Pink asked, watching the elezen closely.

He glanced up and glared, making the younger man grin wider. “Thank you,” he said again. “Thank you, for saving my life…”

“And thank you for choosing such an asinine location for your little pissing contest,” Pink said, crossing his arms over his chest loosely. “Damn good thing it worked too. I certainly wasn’t looking forward to becoming a pancake.”

Soft pink eyes blinked, then he lifted his hands in shock. “You didn’t know that would work!?”

“What are you complaining about? You would have been dead either way,” the miqo’te said with a shrug.

He looked bewildered. He looked stunned. He looked like nothing in his world made sense.

“You… risked your life… to save me. _Me_ , who had _just_ tried to kill you,” Foulques said, more to himself, trying to work out what had just happened.

“You wouldn’t have killed me.”

A glare.

Another shrug.

“It’s not my fault you took on a monk thinking I was your equal. I respected you, Foulques. I _do_ respect you, so I fought you as a lancer, with the skills I learned from Ywain _and_ from you. But no, you would not have beaten me. I would have knocked you on your ass with a flat palm to the sternum if you got too dangerous.”

The elezen shook his head, wavering on his feet a little before he moved further into the house and dropped into the single chair in the room that constituted bedroom and living room both. Pink followed behind him and took up his position against a wall.

“I am such a fool.”

“Correct.”

“Fuck you!”

A smirk.

“Fuck you, too,” he purred. “Don’t get pissy at me. You tried to kill me and I saved your life. You made a stupid choice. Actually, no. You made a _lot_ of stupid choices.”

Foulques gritted his teeth. “Why? Why did you save me then? Why did you risk your life for me?”

“Hmm…” Pink thought about this for a moment.

“When Ywain sent me, I was just going to go rescue the lancers you left to die.” It pleased him when the elezen winced slightly that time. His fire was gone. His mind was calmer, could see his folly more clearly now.

“I came after you because you were losing your mind, because I knew I could stop you, had to stop you. Because you were getting people killed, _were_ killing people for all I knew. And, because I didn’t want to see those pretty eyes go dark if you got yourself killed,” he finished softly.

Said eyes shot up to meet his own.

A smile spread over Pink’s lips for a moment before it fell. “And then you told your story, and I think I came to understand you more. And the more you spoke, the more I heard the goodness in you; that you have so clearly turned aside as weakness. And I couldn’t let you die, not at my hands, and not by your own stupidity.”

Foulques looked away, fists clenched on the arm of the chair and in his lap. “There is no goodness in me.”

“You’re wrong.” Pink was closer now, knelt down in front of the elezen, bi-colored eyes looking up into a face turned away from him.

White teeth clenched tight against grey skin. “You do not know me.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t. But you told me, Foulques. You told me your story and I heard things that I do not think you even hear yourself anymore. So I am going to tell you your story. I am going to tell you of the man I saw in those words, and I am going to do my damnedest to make you see him too.”

Foulques leaned back a little, brow furrowed as he looked at the miqo’te kneeling before him. “I don’t know what you mean…”

“I know,” he said, offering a small smile. “That’s why I need to tell you.” He touched a light hand to the elezen’s knee. There was a moment of tension but he didn’t pull away or knock the hand off. Probably, Pink mused, because he was too confused by what was going on.

“You were a young man, learning a skill you loved, but from what you say, not having the ability or the time to employ those skills in any way to earn real coin. You, and those you called friends devised a plan to steal coin from the guild. This was not your choice or plan alone, but you played a part in it. When the _guilt_ ate at you, when your _heart_ told you it was wrong, _you_ were the one that stepped forward and not only suggested that you confess, but at least in some way must have convinced the others to do so as well.

“You had the moral strength of character to stand up for what you believed was right, after recognizing your mistake. You stepped forward and told the truth, and I assume you knew there would be some sort of consequence for your actions. But you did it anyway, because you felt guilty. And you wouldn’t have felt that way if you had no morals.”

Foulques looked away from Pink, focusing his attention at the end of the chair arm.

“Those people you called friends abandoned you. They sold you out, and there is nothing wrong with hating them for what they did. Hate their cowardice. Hate that they saw an easy way out and took it. Hate that they cared more about saving their own skin than they cared for their comrade. But, Foulques, hate only them. They are the ones that wronged you.”

His teeth gritted against the memory. It was clear he did hate them, but that hate had spilled so much further.

Pink’s fingers tightened a moment on the elezen’s knee. “You said they called you vulgar things, but you refused to repeat them, even though you hate them for what they did, and what they said. I have no doubt you remember every damn word they said that day, yet you would not repeat those words to me. Maybe part of that is because you did not want to have me think of you in that way. And maybe part is because you find such vulgarity to be something you do not force upon others’ ears, because you care more for those around you than you think you do.

“You speak of using force to make the others tell the truth, or escape your cell even if it meant killing an innocent guard. But you _didn’t_. You accepted your punishment, because you knew that even if you were not fully to blame, you made the choice, carried it through, and did commit the crime you were punished for. No matter how much you hated the others for what they did, you accepted that you too committed a wrong and were paying for it with that cell. You were not too weak to force a confession or too cowardly to attempt escape. You were too honorable. You knew you deserved to be punished—“

Pink eyes shot daggers at the miqo’te. “I did _not_ deserve _that_.”

He shifted closer, chest now lightly touching Foulques’s knees and hand curling more firmly over the elezen’s leg. “No,” he said softly, shaking his head. “You did not deserve _that_. If the others had come forward, and the coin all, or even mostly returned, chances are things would have been much less severe. But that isn’t what happened. You were punished for all, and while you didn’t deserve the severity of what befell you, you still deserved something. You knew that trying to escape, or using violence would not have remedied the situation. So you endured the sentence until its completion.”

Foulques was still glaring at him.

“Am I wrong?”

He looked away again. “I barely comprehend what you say. You repeat my tale with pretty words and false ideals you think you see.”

“Why would I look for false ideals? You tried to kill me. I saw you at what must have damn near been your worst. I saw you so lost that you walked yourself off a fucking _cliff_. I listened to your tale. I heard the things you fail to let yourself register anymore. You said it yourself; you drove yourself to this with vengeance and self-loathing. You hated yourself for what you felt was weakness, when those were all the things that made you _strong_.”

Foulques pressed his hands against the arms of his chair and pushed himself up, past Pink, who managed to half-roll, half-slide to the side and settled on the floor, looking up at the elezen.

“I am not strong! You proved that on the bluff and you prove it even more now,” he said, glaring down at the miqo’te. He looked so small, sitting on the floor, but so calm, so at ease. It was clear he had no fear being in the lancer’s presence.

Pink shifted and slowly stood, keeping his gaze on Foulques. “You put too much merit in strength of the body. And even then, you are much stronger than many. Other than Ywain, I wonder if there are any in the Lancers’ Guild that match your actual strength or natural prowess.”

He growled slightly at the mention of Ywain and the guild.

“Stop it,” Pink said, voice firm but not harsh. “Ywain was not one that betrayed you. He didn’t even know your history—just thinks you a challenger, a wayward soul, and a danger, generally in that order.”

Another glare from the elezen.

“And fuck me being stronger than you. I barely defeated you as a lancer. Your skill is greater than mine. If you were not so far gone to the point of near delusion, perhaps you would have pushed me to use my other skills. And _yes_ , as a monk I am stronger than you and more skilled. There are opponents out there that exceed my ability. That is why I train, _and_ why I join forces with others to accomplish goals I cannot achieve on my own.”

Foulques half turned and looked away but Pink reached out and grabbed his bicep. “Your friends turned their backs on you, and in turn, you turned your back on the world. When was the last time you trusted someone? When was the last time you even considered accepting help?”

Pink eyes looked back at him. They looked pained, and confused. He was unable to name an instance where he’d been able to claim either.

“You were put through hell by their weakness and inability to confess to the crime you all committed. And you took that hell and made it your _life_. No friends to trust or rely on. No comrades to betray you. But you have lost so much more. You’ve lost _yourself_.”

Foulques jerked away and then took a step towards the miqo’te, shoving him in the chest and sending him a couple steps back before Pink regained his balance.

“Why would I put my trust in anyone when they are unwilling to put their trust in a dirty duskwight!?”

Pink lifted his head and held Foulques’s eyes with his own. “Because, you idiot, there are people out there that would. There are people that don’t see wildwood or duskwight, seeker or keeper. They see _men_ and _women_. They see warriors and healers, crafters and gatherers, shopkeeps and mistrals.”

“And what do you see what you look at me?” he sneered, clearly expecting some vulgar words that echoed from his past.

Bi-colored eyes softened a little. “I see a duskwight,” he started, and was amused at the subtle jolt in Foulques’s posture. Clearly some part of him expected to hear something different.

A smile started to spread on his lips. “I see a duskwight who is a strong and capable lancer, who is firm and resolute in what _he_ thinks is right, regardless of how wrong he is. I see skill that has been worked and hewn over years of practice and self-made trial. I see haphazard locks of hair, cut for necessity rather than style, probably by your own knife. I see sharp eyes that scream passion and fervor. I see an incredible man, who happens to have shut himself away, and who is probably very, very lonely.”

Pink couldn’t quite read the look the elezen gave him due to the fact that so many emotions and thoughts seemed to flicker across his face and behind his eyes. He couldn’t even hope to catch one before another took its place.

Eventually Foulques spoke. “I’ve… forgotten what it is to be lonely.”

“Would you like to feel something else?”

One hand lifted to rub absently at his bicep, eyes looking at Pink, but also through him at the same time. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Cream and blue eyes darted to the hand and then back to meet pale pink. “Oh, I think you have an idea.”

His lips tightened into a thin line. “Just… just because you saved my life doesn’t mean I owe yo—“

“No!” Pink said, stepping forward and curling his fingers lightly around the elbow of Foulques’s bent arm.

“I am not asked for something from you. I am offering something to you,” he said, thumb sliding slowly along the side of the elezen’s arm which stiffened under his touch.

“You?” he asked, looking down at Pink out of the corner of his eye. “The Warrior of Light offers me… what?”

His tone belied that he had some idea, or at least guessed at what the miqo’te meant.

“He offers you… The Warrior of Light,” he said, a little grin playing at his lips.

Foulques balked at him, shying away ever so slightly. “You don’t want me.”

“I think it’s actually pretty fucking clear that I do. I’ve wanted you since I first caught a glimpse of your eyes, because for some reason they fucking do it for me. And I could go on a whole myriad of other things that have flitted through my head in regard to you, but then we’d be here for another age. Right here, right now, I want _you_ , Foulques. I want to give you whatever you want, and whatever you need, to help you claw out of this hell of self-pity and be the man you left behind all those years ago.”

“And you think _sex_ is what I need?”

One edge of Pink’s lips curled up into a devilish little smirk. “I think that’s exactly what you need. Get rid of some tension. Feel a little trust. And feel someone who has seen you so broken and still _wants_ you, still wants you to feel good, and heal, and be around tomorrow, or next month, or next year, and not at the bottom of a bluff or in some damn nest of monsters.”

There was a noticeable bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed. “I… It’s been a long time, Pink. I don’t kno-“

“It’s okay. I’m patient. You take your time,” he said, stepping in closer and sliding one hand around behind the elezen’s head to pull him down for a light kiss.

Foulques wasn’t surprised, though he’d have to be a complete idiot for the miqo’te’s move to catch him off guard after the conversation they had just had. His mind still reeled a little at the idea of having someone want him, let alone the Warrior of Light.

His hands settled loosely on Pink’s hips, returning the kiss slowly. It took him a little while before he realised that the younger man was not trying to control the exchange. Instead his lips remained gentle and seeking, hand still on the back of his neck a gentle comfort rather than something holding him in place. A little tremor ran through him and he stilled, angry at himself for letting something so small get to him.

Pink’s head tilted to the side and he placed a soft kiss to the elezen’s jaw. “It’s alright,” he said, voice quiet against his skin. “I don’t want you to hold back anything. Let your body speak for itself, Foulques. I think it has a lot to say.”

Foulques’s eyes half closed. Letting go was not something he did, not something he ever allowed himself anymore. It didn’t feel as easy as flipping a switch and just giving in. Even the idea of giving in at all still terrified him, regardless of Pink’s words.

“You speak with a tongue touched by Menphina,” he said, eyes closing all the way as more light kisses brushed along his jaw and up to his ear. He felt the miqo’te’s weight against him slightly as the other pressed up on tip toes to reach.

“Sweetheart, my _everything_ is touched by Menphina,” he said before parting his lips and letting the tips of his fangs slide along the elezen’s earlobe in the barest of touches.

His next breath came in a stutter at the feeling and his fingers involuntarily twitched against Pink’s hips before pressing there more firmly. “And yet… you wish to give yourself to this inexperienced fool?”

“More now than ever before,” he whispered.

Warm breath danced along his ear with the words and one hand slid around Pink’s waist to pull him closer as he turned his head and claimed the monk’s lips in another kiss. The hand behind his neck shifted to allow the arm instead to curl around his shoulders, keeping the monk on his toes.

Foulques was already starting to contemplate what other locations and positions might be more conducive to their differing heights, and that surprised him a little. It had been a _long_ time since he’d had a warm body in his arms and the simple closeness was already affecting his tight muscles. As his body eased, so did his mind.

“You’re too short,” he said, voice low and maybe even hinting at playful, at least somewhere down the road.

A pink brow arched as he pulled away a little to look at the elezen. “I’m too short?”

Now there was a touch of a smile on his lips. “I’ll get a kink in my neck. And your armor is digging in,” he said, lifting one hand to rub his fingers against the shoulder just under the gauntlet.

Pink unwound his arm and took a step back, moving his other hand up to remove first one gauntlet, then the other. He turned to set them in the chair, then bent over to take off his boots, tail swishing back and forth against the soft cloth of his tunic and pants.

Foulques came up behind him as he stood, body firm against his back. Hands came up to either side and lifted the circlet and long feather from his head before reaching over easily to set it on top of the chair.

“Look at you, undressing me,” Pink said, voice amused and pleased.

“I am not entirely sure removing a piece of head gear entirely falls under the category of undressing,” Foulques said as his hands moved back to slide over the tunic’s pauldrons.

“Oh? Is that where we’re stopping?” he asked, turning his head to glance over his shoulder.

“Do these comes off?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes, they can,” he said, reaching up to unhook and remove one then the other, placing them with the rest of his things in the chair. “Better?”

Hands smoothed over his cloth covered shoulders and down along his arms. “Yes. Much,” Foulques said into his hair.

A smile played on Pink’s lips and he leaned back against the elezen. He knew contact would be good for him.

“Now, I believe we were about to remedy this problem of you being too short.”

Pink ears flicked back a little. “I’m not _too_ short. Bloody elezens.”

“Don’t you want me to be comfortable?” Foulques asked, turning his head to murmur the question against one of the fluffy ears near his lips.

“Mm… Of course. Where do you want me?” he asked, though he already knew. The chair was taking up part-time work as an armory for the foreseeable future and there was little else for furniture in the room.

There was silence behind him for a moment, Foulques seeming to lose his place in the easy nature of the exchange, thinking too much again rather than letting himself just follow his body where it wished to go. Still, he seemed to regain himself relatively quickly and brought his hands up to rest his palms against Pink’s shoulder blades before giving him a gentle push.

“My bed,” he said. “Unless you’re partial to tables of questionable sturdiness.”

Pink laughed lightly and took a step towards the bed before turning and sitting back down on it. He pushed himself back and brought his feet up onto the mattress as well before he shifted towards the head and settled back onto his elbows.

The bed wasn’t anything special, though it was also not the worst thing that one might generally find in a home that constituted something that was little more than a closet attached to a breadbox. Pink expected that for a man who pushed himself with near death-defying trials, a decent bed to recover in was likely somewhat important. It was comfortable enough, though a little narrower than would be completely desirable. However, Pink certainly didn’t expect they would be needing to stretch out.

Foulques looked down at him for a moment, eyes sliding over the pink haired miqo’te with his pale pink tunic in the traditional monk style. It sent a little spark through him, having this man in his bed, this man who had defeated primals and trials he could only dream of. And he was just laying back, waiting for him.

One knee pressed into the mattress, hands falling to either side of Pink’s body before he crawled up and over the younger man. He met bi-colored eyes with his own before bringing his lips down for another kiss and pressing the miqo’te’s head back into the pillow.

Pink lifted one arm to wrap around Foulques’s shoulders while the other hand traced fingertips over his arm. The loose material of the shirt was a touch rough, and his mind briefly considered making a few items of linen or velveteen. Hell, he was half temped to craft a new bed while he was at it.

The hand slid back up the arm and then down the side of the elezen’s shirt before slipping under the hem and spreading out over his skin. He let it rest there a moment, giving his full attention to the kiss, and remembering that he was submitting to the whims of the other man—which  he certainly wasn’t complaining about.

Foulques had a firmness to him, a strength that most certainly lead him to dominate those he might take to bed. Pink had been certain of this and never even considered another course of action. But he’d learned from one of the best, and he did not turn his nose up at pleasure for the sake of pride or preference. If he wanted someone, then he’d have them whatever way they wished.

And while the elezen gave off the impression of not having partaken in such bodily delights in recent months, if not years, he was certainly no stranger to physical passion. It didn’t take him long to seek entrance with a flick of his tongue, and less time still to press inside with only the slightest of parted lips.

Pink’s hand pressed against the center of Foulques’s lower back then slid a firm heel up along his spine, grinning into the kiss as he felt the slight arch under his hand and heard the sigh of pleasure in his ear.

“You like that?” he asked, licking his lips as he looked up at the taller man with half-lidded eyes.

“Need you ask questions when the answer is so obvious?” Foulques asked back, tilting his head to nip at Pink’s jaw.

The miqo’te grinned and tilted his head back and to the side. “I need not, yet I do so love to hear it.”

“Then yes,” he said, placing kisses and gentle nips along the exposed throat. “I like that.”

“I could give you a massage,” he offered, curling the fingers of his hand over a shoulder and kneading firmly.

Foulques’s eyes closed for a moment. His body was tense, his muscles tight. He’d gone from the edge of sanity, to nearly dead, to having his savior in his bed in a matter of hours. In all honesty, the offer would likely do him good, though he expected the miqo’te would be more than happy to oblige at a slightly later date.

A brief bite to the skin where flexed neck met honed muscle. “And here I was under the impression that I was going to give you a massage…”

Pink bit his lower lip to hold back a laugh. “My goodness, Foulques. I didn’t know there was such a beast lying beneath that tough lancer hide.”

“Perhaps you should not have unleashed what I have kept held back for so long?”

“Oh no,” he purred, voice low and rumbling in a way only those of his race could truly manage. His fingers slid away from the shoulder and reached up through the back of the shirt collar to grip at Foulques’s hair and push his head down so their lips just brushed.

“I want it. I want you.”

The elezen kissed Pink hard, pressing his body down against the other. They were both toned muscle beneath fabric. The tunic was thicker, made for battle and not for the bedroom, but there was no move to remove it.  Long fingers could still make out the lines of the miqo’te’s body through the material.

Pink’s fingers curled in Foulques’s hair and he marvelled at how adept the elezen truly was when he let himself go. It was clear he’d not been a stranger to passion, at least in years past. Even one that was naturally gifted at such things would not kiss so well, touch so precisely. Not that it was all that surprising. He was attractive, skilled, and strong. Back in his days as a lancer of the guild he probably caught a number of eyes.

Foulques broke the kiss, leaning back up and crossing his arms in front of his body to pull his loose shirt over his head. He tossed it aside without a thought and let his eyes fall to meet Pink’s own. There were a number of scars across his chest and stomach, some thin and just slightly paler than his grey skin. Others were harsher, healed only partially by what Pink surmised was likely an inferior potion than would have been required. Some had surely been healed by magic, but he suspected those were more likely to have been performed by adventurers and healers while the elezen had been unconscious or could not turn their aid away.

The look in his eyes told Pink he wasn’t ashamed, even for the stupid choices he had made in the name of becoming stronger. He was alive, had survived his own trials, and he’d been made stronger for them. But still, it was clear he was taking that moment to let him look, to let bi-colored eyes wander over the scars, only to have the gaze followed shortly by soft fingers.

Pink had a bit of a thing for scars, in all honesty. He liked the idea of strong men who fought beasts and won. He also liked cute little twinks that hadn’t spent a single day so much as looking the wrong way at a ladybug, but his tastes ranged greatly.

“I want to run my tongue over every inch of you,” the miqo’te purred and Foulques actually twitched a moment as he averted his eyes. He didn’t blush, but he certainly hadn’t been expecting that sort of response either.

“Perhaps… next time,” he murmured, eyes glancing back and catching the wide grin on Pink’s lips.

“So glad to hear it,” he said. “And here I thought we’d actually have to fuck before I got a call back for seconds.”

Foulques rolled his eyes and placed a hand over the front of Pink’s pants, giving a little squeeze. “Based on your opinion of yourself, I’m rather surprised you didn’t assume the mere utterance of your name didn’t have me on my knees, begging.”

Pink’s head tilted to the side a moment, eyes looking up as if he was considering the very image. The eyes fell half closed and his tongue slid out over his upper lip when the elezen’s hand shifted again.

“No,” he said, looking up into pink eyes and grinning. “Not you. I could never see you begging, nor would I ever want to try and make you. I want to give you whatever you want, and I want it to be amazing for you.”

There was a little shiver that Pink caught in the subtle movement of Foulques’s shoulders. He loved it, watching his words break through the tough mask the older man had put in place and seeing the little cracks of pleasure.

“Speaking of,” Pink said, reaching one hand into a pocket and drawing out a thin vial. Inside was a semi-thick liquid of pale orange, with little wisps of pink threaded through it. His lips curved to one side in a smirk.

Foulques lifted his hand from Pink’s crotch to take the vial. He had no doubt what it was. At least, he was sure on the purpose. But he certainly had never observed oil that looked like this. His head tilted to the side slightly as he flicked his wrist and watched the liquid swirl.

“I make it myself,” the miqo’te said, grinning wider.

“Pardon?” Foulques asked.

“That,” he said, giving a nod with his chin towards the vial. “An infusing of olive oil, lavender oil, and mega-potion.”

A thin brow lifted as the elezen regarded his would be lover. “You made this?”

He rolled his eyes. “I make damn near everything I need. And I gather damn near everything I need. A little Pink Kitty approved lube is hardly a feat.”

“Interesting,” Foulques murmured. “My apologies, I simply didn’t expect you to have the time to craft alongside your training and voluptuous appetite.”

“Oh, I have all number of surprises. However, that would be one of my modifications I am most proud of. I have never heard a complaint, nor made any myself.” His grin was firmly back in place.

Foulques leaned down over him, free hand next to his head and lips brushing against an ear. “Perhaps you should try mint, and vanilla, or both,” he murmured softly. “I’m rather fond of vanilla…”

Pink shivered himself at that. “Your wish is most certainly my command, for next time.”

“I think we really should focus on this time instead of making all these promises for the future,” Foulques said, flicking his tongue over the soft fur as he ran the rounded base of the vial down the center of Pink’s body.

He sighed softly at the attention to his ear. “I think you may be right about that, but we seem to still be a little overdressed.”

“Yes. That does seem to be the case.” Foulques smiled and pulled back, eyes sliding over the man beneath him. “But I’m sure that can be remedied.”

A small smile played on his lips as he moved back and slid off the end of the bed. He watched as the miqo’te pushed himself up onto his elbows to better observe as long fingers worked the simple tie keeping his pants secured around his hips. He ran his hands down the sides of Pink’s thighs and hooked his thumbs under the cuffs. He tugged them down and off, tossing them into the chair to rest with the rest of the custom-colored gear.

The tunic still covered much of the younger man’s body, but the curve pressed up over Pink’s groin was more than evident and from his angle, Foulques guessed, he’d opted to wear nothing else beneath. Realistically, it didn’t come as much of a surprise, whether it was because this had been his plan all along, or simply because he was Pink Kitty.

“Well, that’s definitely a step in the right direction,” Pink said. His tongue slipped out to run over his lips before he offered Foulques a devilish smirk.

The elezen regarded him with his pale pink eyes, lids hooded as he took in the offering in his bed. The tunic was staying. He’d considered it early on but now it was absolute. The reminder of the strength, power, and skill that rested in that willing body sent sparks through him. Knowing how powerful Pink was, and that he was allowing Foulques to have him as he wanted him was nearly enough to send him reeling. He liked the reminder.

His hands moved to his own waist to undo the tie of his slacks. He paused a moment, watching Pink’s eager expression before he hooked his fingers in the waistband and pushed both them and his undergarments down in one motion.

This time he didn’t wait for the miqo’te to take him in visually. He moved back onto the bed, one hand sliding up the center of Pink’s body overtop the tunic. A smile spread over his lips as he watched a pink brown arch slightly, then a small smirk pull at Pink’s lips.

“Ah,” the younger man said, smirk growing. “Well, then, how do you want me, Foulques?”

The elezen curled his forefinger under Pink’s chin and touched his thumb to his jaw. He leaned down to press their lips together in a brief kiss. That question had been turning in his mind for a while now, as simply any and every way elicited desire in him.

“I want to watch you,” he murmured against Pink’s lips. “I want to see your face and your cock while I fuck you.”

Pink made a sound that came out half-groan and half-purr, and then again when Foulques rolled his hips against his body. He tipped his head back to nip at the older man’s lower lip, arms winding around his shoulders and waist.

“By the moons, Foulques. You’re driving me crazy. You are cruel to have kept yourself from this. I feel true pain for all those that could have had your touch,” Pink said, lips quirking up in amusement again.

“And I wonder how you ever manage to accomplish this with how much time you spend wagging that silver tongue of yours with pretty words.”

“Oh,” he said with a grin. “Often it becomes busy with other things. Do feel free to shut me up however you see fit.”

Foulques smirked and pressed one slick finger inside the man below him, pleased with the little jolt of his body and the tightening around the intrusion. “I would be most pleased to do so. Though the batter does distract you well from my preparation it seems.”

Pink made another pleased sound as his body wriggled further down into the mattress and the finger within him. It amused Foulques how truly feline his mannerisms could become. Despite having such a human body, it was clear that the miqo’te truly did share much more with their distance cousins than he would have first assumed.

The elezen shifted back a little so that he could bend down and grasp the edge of Pink’s tunic in his teeth while still maintaining the slow assault on his entrance. He gave a flick of his head and smiled with approval as the flap of material curved back to settle against the miqo’te’s stomach, fully revealing his hard length.

He hummed his appreciation, eyes sliding over the treat that lay before him. Pink made quite the sight, and though Foulques sensed that he usually took to the dominant role, he truly did give into that of the submissive as well. Every little twitch and shift of pleasure was allowed to show in his body. Every little sound from sharp breath to deep moan was given leave to pass his lips. He was so open, so willing. A sharp jolt of pleasure surged up his spine and he bent over the monk to kiss him hard as he thrust two fingers inside.

Pink moaned into his mouth and one leg moved to hook around Foulques’s thigh, keeping him close. The position did nothing to bring their bodies together—not yet—but the need to keep him near was clear. He muffled the moan with his tongue, tasting and tracing the contours offered to him, dueling with Pink’s own before he was allowed to take control.

His fingers continued to move, mirroring the firmness and fervor of the kiss. When he pulled back enough to catch his quickened breath he was pleased to see Pink in much the same state. His cheek were lightly flushed, a soft shade that resembled his hair, and his breathing was audible.

“Foulques,” he said as a third finger touched to his entrance. “Fuck me. I want you.”

A white brow arched a little. The elezen had expected that he’d need more than two fingers, especially if this was not his standard foray. Still, he pulled back and applied more oil to his fingers before sliding them over his length with a soft sigh.

“You’re ready for me?” he asked as he continued to stroke himself. “Should I be insulted?” he asked with a quirk to his lips.

“Not at all,” Pink said, tongue toying briefly around the tip of one of his fangs. “I just want to really feel you… feel you fill me up… big, hard, and throbbing inside m—”

He cried out loudly as Foulques grabbed his hips and thrust inside him in one, deep, hard thrust. His body arched and his teeth bit at his lower lip and he slowly settled back against the mattress, or as much as he could with his legs now wrapped tight around the elezen’s waist.

“Fuck… _yes_ …” he hissed as he felt that deep throb inside him he’d been begging for.

Foulques had to pause, not to allow Pink time to adjust, but to allow himself time to catch up. It felt so _good_. So hot, and tight, and, by the Twelve, he couldn’t remember feeling this unbelievably _perfect_. The Warrior of Light lay in his bed, wrapped around him in every way conceivable, panting softly, and looking at him with such desire he would have thought he was dreaming. But there was no way he would have ever been able to dream this.

He was leaned over the miqo’te, face mere inches above Pink’s. He watched his with such intensity, holding his gaze as their pants mingled between them. He caught a glimpse of his lover’s lips moving to speak, but before anything could be said he pulled back and thrust back in hard.

Pink’s teeth grabbed at his lower lip again, neck arching some but he held it back, kept his gaze locked with Foulques’s own. He would have said it, told the older man to move, to thrust into him again, and again, and again, but he didn’t need to. He could see in those intense pink eyes that everything he wanted was already understood.

Even if Foulques couldn’t read the mantra of _fuck me, fuck me, fuck me_ in Pink’s eyes, he didn’t think his own body would allow him to do anything but. He’d been unleashed and he felt freer, stronger than he had in many years. He drove hard into the body beneath him, relishing the feeling of tight heat around his cock, Pink’s legs firm around him, pulling his body in to add even more intensity to each thrust.

“ _Fuck_ …” he breathed against Pink’s lips, arm resting against the mattress and hand cupped around the back of the miqo’te’s neck, holding him firmly. His skin was on fire and tingled as if lightning danced over it. Every time he heard his name moaned like a desperate prayer another jolt washed over and through him.

He had let go and not even realised it. There was no control in him. He fucked Pink so hard the bed creaked, the posts against the wall shifting and slamming back against it. If Foulques had had any presence of mind, he would have been able to take in the music of it; voices, bodies, creaking wood.

Pink held more control, though even he would admit that he was being driven into physical bliss. He could still hear his own voice in his ears. _Fuck me. Harder. Yes. More. Yes, Foulques. Foulques. Foulques. Foulques._ He repeated the name over and over, arms wrapped around his lover, fingers digging in to tight, hard muscles.

He was close. By the Twelve, he was close. He thought to bring a hand down to touch Pink’s cock, to force him faster to release, but he didn’t have enough limbs, refusing to release his hold on the younger man’s neck or hip. The brush of it against his stomach with every one of his thrusts was also a delicious tease in its own right.

Pink blinked when Foulques broke their eye contact, truly confused as to what happened until he felt a sharp sting at the base of his neck near his collarbone. He cried out and felt his whole body go impossibly tight, arching as his release took him suddenly.

He heard a muffled grunt against his skin short moments later, feeling sweet warmth spread within him as Foulques joined him in the hazy darkness of orgasm and the inability to think.

It took rather longer than he was accustomed to pull himself into some semblance of conscious thought. He supposed it had been some time since he’d been so thoroughly fucked, and by the Goddess did Foulques deliver. He could do little more than consider that though, as the elezen in question seemed content to pant heavily against him and do not much else.

Pink took his time drawing in long breaths and allowing his body to slowly come back down from the high, riding the little aftershocks of pleasure that swam through his veins. After some minutes more he chuckled and maneuvered a hand to stroke white hair.

Foulques turned his head to the side so that his face buried itself against Pink’s neck.

Another chuckle, warm and gentle. “I can’t believe you bit me.” He smiled when he felt lips curl upwards against his skin.

“Claiming marks on the Warrior of Light. Aren’t you bold?” he asked, giving Foulques’s hair a gentle tug.

A grunt was all the response he got, and he couldn’t really blame the man. If he’d been so clearly out of it, and considering his rather regular forays, he couldn’t really expect his partner to recover as quickly as him. He busied himself with stroking Foulques’s hair and trying not to be cruel by purposefully squeezing around his softening cock.

Eventually the elezen managed to gather enough strength to move, though it was the bare minimum. He was grateful when Pink helped him to slide out before collapsing back to the bed on his side. He didn’t remember reaching for the other, but felt the younger man in his arms, leg hooked over his thigh. His eyes remained closed and he swam in warmth and comfort.

He had never felt this; so weak and vulnerable, and yet there was nothing but safety in the arms around him. Pink wouldn’t hurt him. He could have, a hundred times over, with little to no effort. But instead he had given him his body, his affection, his… trust.

Despite his happy cocoon of warmth and bodily satisfaction, he knew he still could not reciprocate at that level. But he could hear the words Pink had spoken to him before. He had felt Pink’s trust, his open acceptance and willingness towards him. And he had returned it in part. There was no way to have shared that experience and not allowed himself to place at least some of his trust in the miqo’te.

It felt like pieces of a stone wall had started to crumble. A wall built so long ago, and so firmly, that it had become a part of him without conscious thought. He felt something, deep in his heart, as if it was slowly making its way out of that barely crumbling wall. He thought back to the story Pink had told, his story, with the ‘fancy words’ and ‘false ideals’. And it was like glimpses of those things could now be made out.

He had let down his guard, and been embraced. He had accepted help, and been supported. He had been given trust, and he had offered trust in return. He had bedded the Warrior of Light, and it had been… exactly what Pink had said it would be; good for his body, but by The Twelve, better for his mind. He truly felt as if he could feel, at least in part, the man he had been before his life had gone to hell.

*~*~*~*~*

Foulques woke slowly the next morning. He felt it was quite late, far later than he usually woke. And he was blissfully warm. He focused on that, and eventually took notice of the firm body resting against his back. His eyes remained closed as he considered the feeling; a loose arm slung over his side, the soft brush of nose and lips against his back between his shoulder blades. That amused him.

He figured he would have woken to find Pink in his arms, not the other way around. Though, part of him was a little surprised the monk had stayed. The shorter man spooning behind him created a mental image in his head that looked a bit silly, but he couldn’t deny that he felt good, and safe, as he was.

It then occurred to him that he had absolutely no recollection of what had happened after their evening activities had come to an end. One hand shifted to brush along his length, and he started slightly when another hand covered his own and slipped its fingers between his.

“If you’re up for another round, I’m more than happy to oblige,” Pink murmured against Foulques’s back.

Pink eyes cracked open and he shifted his head a little to attempt to look back at his bedmate, though their sizes and positions prevented it completely. “I was just confirming I was nicely clean, though I have no recollection of making myself so.”

There was a chuckle and a soft press of teeth and pointed fangs against a shoulder blade.

“No,” Pink said, grin evident in his voice. “You passed out hard, sweetheart. I cleaned us both up before rejoining you for the night.”

“Hn… I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. I take it as a compliment, both in my prowess, and in confirmation that I was right.”

Foulques shifted at that, untwining their fingers so he could turn onto his other side and look at Pink, who had also shifted so that their faces were now level. “You are full of yourself. You do know that, don’t you?”

A toothy grin as cream and blue eyes danced with delight. “But no retort that I was not correct, so I take that as a win. And yes, I know I am full of myself. Though I thoroughly enjoyed being full of you last night.”

The purring tone of that last sentence sent a little shiver up Foulques’s spin. “That was… rather glorious.”

Pink grinned and leaned forward for a gentle kiss. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Foulques moved a hand to settle low on Pink’s hip. “And how exactly does the rest of this book go?”

“Well, most of that is up to you. I can offer friendship, great sex, a sparring partner, advice. Any of that interest you?” he asked with a smile. “I admittedly have them in a particular order myself.”

The elezen laughed and they both paused for a moment, realizing that the happy sound was beyond rare for Foulques and completely new for Pink.

“You should _really_ do that more often,” the miqo’te said, sliding a hand over Foulques’s chest. “That is a wonderful sound.”

“Hmm,” Foulques mused to himself. “I think perhaps it might be an easier thing for me to do now. But, going back to your offer, I’m quite happy to accept them all, in whatever order you may have put them in within your head. Though I will warn you that I’m likely still going to be stubborn on whatever advice you might wish to impart.”

Pink smiled and moved closer, curling a leg over the elezen’s hip. “I was only going to suggest forgoing the Lancers’ Guild completely and finding a dragoon to mentor you instead. You have the skill and the training. And that way you can continue to grow within your chosen class, while also completely breaking ties to the negative associations you have with the guild.”

Foulques stared at him a long moment, then blinked. “A Dragoon? That’s… certainly not what I thought you were going to suggest.”

“And what were you expecting?”

“Something more along the lines of mending broken bonds with the guild and relearning their ways so that I may one day lead new lancers to greatness alongside Ywain,” he said, giving Pink a look.

“That… sounds like something I might have suggested. However, you’re near too strong for the guild as it is. You need more challenge in your life, which you have proven,” he said, hand sliding over jagged scars.

“Besides, the number of young lancers you have forced me to save these last months rather tells me they may not be completely inclined to welcome you back, even if you were willing to return. I think you would do well as a dragoon. I, personally, plan to dabble in it briefly. I’ve heard there’s a particular skill they teach that I might find useful in my own quest to get stronger. But I could see you going far.”

“Perhaps it is something I will consider, in time. For now, I think I would much prefer to invest in your friendship… and your body.”

Pink grinned, pulling their hips together and nipping at Foulques’s nose. “It would be my absolute pleasure.”


End file.
